


A Crown Of Roses

by Babydoll Ria (Babydoll_Ria)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:38:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1914711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babydoll_Ria/pseuds/Babydoll%20Ria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A revolution is not a bed of roses.</p><p>(I never wanted to be king, but oh-oh, can you hear the people sing?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Here we have it, this monster that I have been writing for so long.
> 
> It's broken into four acts, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Warning there is graphic violence, death, rape and other triggers, as I have taken my inspiration from Game of Thrones and history.
> 
> Updates are the 7th and the 21st of each month.

The fires of burnt corpses light the large hall and echo off the glint of steel.  There is a moment of silence, out place from the clash of battle and it resonates around the occupants of the room, louder than any scream that had been let out.

It is the end of a ten year war, with Lord Coriolanus Snow of the West and his blade through the King’s neck.

Queen Mags’s face is smudge with dirt, blood and sweat; her mouth open in a silent scream as she stares transfixed as Coriolanus, once a childhood playmate finishes the motion, roughly like he enjoys sawing through her husband’s neck.  Blood and skin splatter and get into Coriolanus’s mouth, though he pays no matter to it.

The room watches as their king gets dethroned by his trusted friend, and Queen Mags-no longer queen now, now just Mags Odair widowed and from the Southern Islands, cannot do anything but watch.

Lord Woof, her husband’s adviser is the one who pulls himself up from the ground, baring no mind his left leg is lame now, bleeding from one of Coriolanus’s sword.

‘Leave Beetee, Haymitch, Brutus.’ There are no protests when the pages, boys really, no older than fourteen, pale faced and bathed red leave, running like children.

Their footfalls echo around the great hall, and bring Mags out of her frozen stupor.

‘How dare you?’ she breathes advancing, despite Woof’s motioning for her to stay. Her gown drags across puddles of blood and she steps over corpses with little reaction, too blinded by her fury. ‘How dare you-He-We trusted you.’

Her words appear to fall on deaf ears, and her friend, the boy she used to play in the warm waters on the Southern Islands, before they were burnt, pillaged and run to ruins by the Meir and she was forced to take comfort in Panem, but her friend no longer for he is bathed in blood of her husband and holds her husband’s head by his golden hair like it is a miraculous prize and not the head of the man he swore loyalty to, on his knees in this very room.

‘Coriolanus!’ She roars, ferocious like the sea that she loves, ‘Answer your Queen!’

Her words echo and it feels like in the silence that answers her, her anger magnifies.

Slowly, delicately like a creature from a nightmare she cannot wake up, Coriolanus turns his head to face her and his expression though cordial and offputtingly regal in this situation, feels like ice water to her face and though she stands by a pyre she feels frozen.

‘You are no Queen.’ Coriolanus says simply and she wills herself not to flinch with each word he says; he drops her husband body and she cannot bring her eyes to watch her love’s body roll down the many stairs to join his men already slain. Instead she watches Coriolanus walk like a predator, assured of his victory walk down the many stairs to face her. ‘We are friends, and so out of respect for that friendship I will tell you this only once: Leave Panem Mags. Take your son and never come back.’

She wants to spit in her face, wants a blade to stab him and scream as she drains him of his blood.

She trusted him, he trusted him. How could he betray friendship for a cold throne in an empty room? Is power that alluring a man would kill his leader and friend?

She spends no time in trying to reason Coriolanus’s methods; instead she takes her flight, satin skirt snapping as she turns and runs.

She tracks blood throughout the palace, to her chambers where she had been before the hall had been taken.  She is breathing deeply, feeling a burn in her lungs and soreness throughout her muscles as she pushes curtains of lace and silk to get to her child, her son with her love’s green eyes.

Holding her child to her breast, she flees.


	2. Act i Scene i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to The_Milliners_Rook for beta-ing.

At sixteen Lady Katniss Everdeen is long overdue to be wed. The reason why she had been passed over since her first bleeding, three years ago was due to her dubious parentage.  Lady Violet Undersea is the cherished younger sister of Lord Undersea of the North and she was engaged to Lord Mellark of the East; however she had fallen in love with her brother’s squire, a man named Everdeen and had fled from Twelfth eighteen years ago to marry Everdeen.

Everdeen was killed in a Squamish by Mellark’s men, bad blood still lined the family rumoured to be the cause of Lord Mellark’s unhappy marriage, three years prior and Violet Everdeen was forced to return to her brother’s estate.

Her brother kindly took her, and her two daughters Katniss and Primrose, but his sister could not go unpunished. The proud and kind Lady Violet Undersea had given up her name and with that her title and privilege.  She bore the name Everdeen, and lost her status.

The tension in the north was strong, with both Lord Undersea and Violet Everdeen feeling insulted.

Katniss’s marriage prospect were limited due to her non noble father, and while one could say that perhaps Lord Undersea was blocking perspective marriages of Katniss to favour his own daughter, Lady Madge Undersea, there is no proof.

The cousins are the same age, though Katniss is as dark as Madge is fair, and the differences only get strong from there. Their tutors complain heartily about how Katniss never cares for her lessons, augmentative over small details, and still unable to come to terms with the loss of freedom coming to Twelfth had given her.

She was thankful that there was a roof over her sister and mother’s head made of stone, rather than thatched hay as the likelihood the western quarters burning down due to a stray candle was smaller. She was happy that Primrose, at twelve would never have to go wanting for food, like she had for close to six months while their mother was bedridden with grief.

She was thankful for the new clothes of heavy wool that would keep Prim from freezing.

She was thankful to her uncle for taking them in, when it would have been well within his right to turn them aside.  But as the same time she was furious.

Coming to Twelve meant long dresses with petticoats instead of lighter dresses, and her access to the forest was limited to only one stroll with an escort in the form of Gale Hawthorne, who is currently training to be a knight under Haymitch of the North and was spending the winter months in Twelfth while Haymitch was in the Capitol with King Coriolanus.

Madge is content with her life, comparing her cousin to a bird broken in the wild, and brought inside to heal. The bird is disorientated and fragile, and the fear of the comforting unknown causes the bird to hurt itself more. The point of the metaphor, Madge explained, was that Katniss had yet to relax and understand that her father is not going to turn them out, that Katniss, her sister and mother are safe here.

There is a retort on the tip of tongue that she had to swallow like a bitter pill, pushing it down to the pits of her stomach where it soured and spread through her body like a poison. Madge was a caged bird, she wanted to argue, one who had never been outside of the gilded cage and couldn’t see the cruelty her father possessed.

Katniss’s mother is still in full mourning clothes, Violet Everdeen was not permitted to wear the white her status would have let her; instead her mother was humiliated in black linens that washed her out and the veil that hid her face.

If Violet Everdeen had ever considered the possibility of remarriage, it would have been denied as Lord Undersea would never let his sister remarry. The shame of marrying underneath her status, and the crime of running away was not forgotten.

Lord Undersea was never cruel to his sister, but he was subtle and snubbed her.

Katniss had taken to stealing away from lessons to find Gale Hawthorne her only friend practising his skill with knives and swords, awaiting his master who held erratic hours.

Sir Haymitch Abernathy was only thirteen when the ten year war was ended forty years ago, when King Odair was killed and his wife and child fled Panem. He represents the North still, though his surely disposition and his preference for strong drink had sullied the North’s favour to King Coriolanus, and trade has been slow for the past few winters.

‘How were lessons Catnip?’ The tall dark haired squire says, a small smile gracing his face as he weighs a small dagger in the palm of his hand, trying to find the proper balance.  

Gale is in a particularly good mood since Haymitch’s departure a fort week prior, as Haymitch had hinted over top his prized liquor that a dubbing maybe soon, something at one score and eight, he was desperate to receive.

He had grumbled for the past year about how his drunken master seemed to be dragging his heels, and perhaps he should leave for The Wall, where he would be appreciated.

The Wall were where disgraced knights, those who failed to protect their Lords went. It was simply put, a ten metre high wall, surrounding Panem keeping outsiders away and everyone safe. The only breach in The Wall is the harbour where the Southern Islands are located, and fresh seafood (an expensive delicacy, only reserved for weddings and times of great celebration) is harvested.

‘Dull.’ Katniss grimaces, hoisting herself on the bottom rung of the wooden fence to be better to properly snatch the slim silver dagger out of his open palm.

It’s ornate, one for decoration rather than use, with a wolf engraved in the ivory handle. He had told her once that this was his prized possession. It had belonged to his father, who had died the year before Gale was about to enter his pageship under his father.

He was surprised when Haymitch had taken him, though that meant he had to travel several days from his family. He had told Katniss his brothers Rory and Vick were apprenticing at a blacksmith and had joined the church respectively. He rarely spoke of his mother and his sister.

‘Learning how to run a household doesn’t suit your interest?’ Gale mocks, knowing full well of Katniss’s hatred of her confinement.  ‘You’ll make a fine lady for someone one day.’

Katniss laughs, ‘I don’t think I’d ever want to be married.’

The sentence runs Gale cold, and Katniss doesn’t notice how his ears turn red around the edges.

‘You’ll change your mind.’ Gale promises, taking the small dagger back and placing it carefully into its holster.

Katniss shakes her head, but does not say anything.

* * *

 

She slides her tongue around his member, tasting the saltiness of skin, while his large hand scarred from multiple battles weaves itself through her dark hair, trying to hold her in place as she takes him further in his moment.

She never takes her eyes off his lined face. His eyes are closed and his head thrown back in ecstasy as he tries not to let her name slip from his lips. They must be quiet; they are in a public place only hidden by a small shrub.

Her dress is pooling at her waist, her breasts bare and there are teeth marks from where he nipped and suckled her before she fell to her knees.

‘Jesus fuck.’ He groans, and she swirls her tongue around the tip, feeling the hot liquid starting to come from his tip. She clasps the part of his shaft she cannot take in his mouth and rubs while still sucking him.

He cums with a strangle cry of _‘ChristfuckJo’_ and his hand tightens in her hair, pulling so it hurts and the moisture between her thighs feels thicker, and she just wants him to take her now.

She swallows obediently, letting him go and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand delicately, Johanna Mason, lady’s maid to Cashmere, the King’s mistress leans back on her hunches, all while watching Sir Haymitch Abernathy catch his breathe.

‘I trust it was satisfactory?’  She asks, watching as he rights himself.

Haymitch snorts, ‘Yeah it sure as fuck was.’

She smirks, and is about to ask him to return the favour when there are footfalls on pavement and the expression on Haymitch’s lined face is one of a rabbit caught in a snare.

He springs away from her, like she’s nothing but a cheap whore, worried that it would be someone who would tell his wife, Effie.  

The footsteps pass without incident, but any chance of Haymitch taking her are gone, stolen by his reprieve. The expression of shameful guilt is one she is familiar with etched on his face.

His marriage to Lady Effie Trinket, the only daughter of a family of wealthy merchants heavily favoured by the King was arranged, and she’s heard rumours that Haymitch’s first love was killed because of the arranged marriage.

Lady Effie is the type of person everyone knows about, by reputation alone if not her outlandish looks.  Johanna has never seen Lady Effie’s true hair as she is always wearing large wigs of pastels colours better suited for flowers than for hair. She is always in the latest fashion, and has recently started wearing her dresses so tight, that her waist is something Johanna can measure in one and a half palms. She is always fussy around court, in her nasally voice trilling about decorum and the latest rumours.

She has never understood how someone could assume the two would make a good match; they couldn’t be any more different. Effie thought of trivial things, never having a serious thought in her head, focusing more on her image and her position in court, and as the wife to one of the four Knights of Panem, the title given to each chosen champion of the four Lordships, she was very high up.

Haymitch on the other hand, didn’t give a rat’s ass about decorum, image or his position in court. He preferred to avoid any and all official events, and when she did see him there, it was often with a full cup of liquor in his hands.

Jokes and snide remarks went right over Effie’s wigged head, while Haymitch spoke in dry wit like it was his mother tongue.

It isn’t a happy union, for they have been married for almost two score and have yet to produce any children. Haymitch had said an old injury during the Ten Year War caused him to be barren, though he never cums inside her, preferring to empty himself on her chest.

It’s been two years since Haymitch tracked her down, and kissed her messily.

He spends most of his time with his Squire Gale Hawthorn, a dark boy who seems incapable of smiling, whom she’s only seen in passing, in between the Capitol and the North, where he is the Champion of Lord Undersee.

He spends the winter months in the Capitol, unable to travel due to the thick snow, and due to Effie insistence that they do not spend the winter cut off from all civility and society. From what she has heard Effie is rather bored and a horror when she has to go to Twelfth.

She hates those six months of the year, she never sees Haymitch and she wonders if he thinks of her at all. He never sends her a letter or gives her a trinket to remember him by.

He never asks her if there are any suitors or anyone else who shares her bed, and if it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes when he buries himself in her hips and the messy way he kisses her, like she is air and he cannot breathe without her, she would assume he did not care for her.

‘We can go to my chamber.’ She says in a undertone, wanting to erase all trace of guilt from his face. He didn’t love Effie, for a man in love didn’t do what they did.

‘Nah.’ Haymitch says, running a hand through his hair, ‘Effie’ll be looking for me.’

He doesn’t bid her goodbye, as his boots crunch the light snow.

Johanna has never thought of herself as a stupid girl, she managed to get herself out of her small village and be taken on as a ladies maid, despite have no previous training or connection.

But then again, Lady Cashmere was only eight years older than Johanna herself, and had been desperate for someone her own age, her brother had been knighted and scent with Sir Brutus on errands by the King.

But in this moment, his taste still on her tongue, and her knees wet from the snow she wonders if she is stupid.

For she has fallen in love with a married man, and there is no way he would leave his wife for her.

* * *

 

‘The snow is worse here.’  Gale says, as he and Katniss make tracks around the woods. He is checking his snares, while she is practising her archery.

Lord Undersee never allowed Katniss to learn any sort of weaponry, and this was expressly forbidden. However her mother came to him discreetly and said if he is the one keeping her daughter safe in the woods, she should learn something to defend herself with.

He chose archery, as it dealt more with aiming than with strength, and he was pleasantly surprised at how quickly she took to it.

It took four months of daily walks in the woods, in which he had to assure Lord Undersee and his master that he had no intentions whatsoever with Katniss.

Lord Undersee had made it very clear that if he touched his niece he would have no place at Twelve.

At the time, he had been fourteen and had no interest in the quiet girl with tan skin from exposure to the elements, and it was an easy promise. But the years past, and womanhood had crept up on Katniss, and she wore it wear.

Her skin would never be the fashionable pale like woman of noble birth, like her cousin. It had been marred by the wind, and the months she strived to care for her family before her mother woke from her daze of grief long enough to return to her family home.

He preferred the skin in her colour; it made her more attractive in his eyes. He never wanted a woman who needed to be cared for, he had enough on his plate with three younger siblings and a mother whom he sends ninety-five percent of his small wages.

He cannot afford a wife, though from Haymitch’s pointed comments, he is expecting Gale to take if not a wife, than at least a lover soon.

If he was allowed to, he thinks he would like to marry Katniss. 

‘Compared to where?’ Katniss says, her bow drawn and her gaze strong on a fat blue jay perched on a tree branch, paying them no mind.

‘The Capitol.’ He says watching her slender fingers release and the coil of her arm as the arrow hits its target and the bird falls from the tree with a soft thump, as it hits the snow.

The snow is thigh deep on Gale, and a bit past Katniss’s knees. He offers her a hand to help her maneuver through the snow, but she ignores it preferring to struggle and get her coyote lined cape damp from the snow than show a bit of weakness.

Katniss has incredible pride, fitting for someone of her stature, but it does not help her; instead her pride and refusal to accept help handicapped her, especially when she lost her footing and fell backwards in the snow.

He tries to hide his laugh, but fails when a boyish smirk graces his serious features. ‘Need help Catnip?’

‘No.’ She grumbles, the shock of falling dissipating off her face like smoke and she works to get herself out of the snow.  He says nothing, but lets her push past him snow still clinging off of her back in small clumps that make an interesting design.  Katniss claims her prize, with a look of triumph happiness and some sadness.

He remembered her telling him, years ago that her father hunted birds, particularly mockingjays which were rare to almost the point of extinction in the North and that her mother would bake great pies. Katniss voice always became wishful at those moments, when she described her childhood.

It was one near poverty, no one wanted a knight who broke his vows and ran off with his Lady, so her father had become a mercenary taking small jobs, and somehow getting in between a land dispute from the Mellarks and a local Seigneur. 

But before then, it had been a happy home full of food and music.

‘We should head back,’ he murmurs looking at the darkening sky. ‘We’ve been out for almost two hours.’

Katniss snorts, ‘Like they care. Madge is just doing some embroidery with Prim.’

‘And you don’t want to join in?’

The glare she gives him, makes him smile and the trudge back following their footsteps to the armoury where her bow is carefully stored in the bottom of his personal chest, is silent.

They are discussing the possibility of venison for dinner as there have been whispers all day that Thom had come back from a hunting trip with a stag, there are interrupted from the sounds of silk slippers running down carpet floor before stopping suddenly slowly to a walk.

When Gale looks, he finds Lady Madge Undersee a tad breathless beaming behind them.

‘Cousin!’ Madge exclaims, smiling prettily.  He frowns.

Madge Undersee is the same age as Katniss, and that is where any similarities they have end. Madge is slender, but not in a way that speaks of a lack of food which still ghosts Katniss’s features. Madge’s hair is a pretty blonde that is pinned up in the most fashionable way, with a few curls falling out from what he presumes was a great race to find them. Her eyes are a clear blue, and he’s confused to the darkening of her expression for the briefest of moments when her blue eyes flicker to meet his grey ones.

‘Yes?’

‘Lord Mellark and his sons are coming in a fort week!’ Madge says, excitedly reaching out for Katniss’s hands and lacing them together as she pulls Katniss down the corridor, leaving Gale to fall behind the cousins. ‘Father says there’s to be a match! A _match_ Katniss!’

He has long heard of Katniss’s complaints about how Madge complains during the embroidery circle she can’t avoid how her father has yet to secure a marriage.

In Gale’s opinion, Madge’s great discomfort of being unwed is something stupid. There is much more to life than being married and he could not at all possibly fathom why she was looking forward to it.  He could understand why Lord Undersee is so hesitant to marry his only child out, his wife had died three years earlier, by an illness and he had refused to ever take a second wife, or even a mistress.

This meant that Madge is the man’s only heir, and as such the man she marries will inherit the Lordship of the North, and it is not something to be taken lightly.

‘Congratulations.’ Katniss says dryly, quite obviously not caring or seeing the importance. If Lord Undersee was particular about who his daughter could marry, it seemed like he rejected any and every offer for Katniss as well.

At first he assumed it was due to familiar concern, but he is now of the particular opinion that it is spite against his sister’s marriage.

‘Oh I know! Lord Peeta is the one, ‘Madge continues, ‘his brothers are already married. Oh it’s thrilling! Father has commissioned new dresses for us all! ‘

‘A new dress?’ He can’t stop himself, and he takes a pervert pleasure in the smile that falls off her face as she turns to face him, her arm still looped around her cousin, and her pale skin blushing red in slight anger. ‘Because of company.’

‘Yes.’ She says, making it sound more like a hiss in a polite voice.  ‘If I’m meeting my future family I want to look pretty.’

‘You want to look pretty?’ His eyebrows are raised and there’s a look of annoyance on Katniss’s face that he ignores. ‘You don’t want them to care about your personality?’

‘You can grow to love someone’s personality.’ Madge huffs, blue eyes dancing with anger, though the rest of her features are schooled into polite disinterest. ‘But you can’t change how one looks.’

He opens his mouth to retort, but Madge cuts him off.

‘Good day Esquire Hawthorne.’ She says firmly, before turning with a swish of her skirt and taking Katniss with her.

* * *

 

 

 

Review Replies are [here](http://seevikifangirl.tumblr.com/tagged/acor%3A-review). Thank you for all the support. Update August 7 2014


	3. act i scene ii

It took her almost forty years, but Mags Odair, her reddish-blonde hair now white with age, has finally come to terms with the high humidity that exists in the Outside. 

She still calls it The Outside despite having buried her son her several years back when he and his wife had died of fruit fever. She still calls it The Outside because Mags Odair is still the rightful queen of Panem and her grandson, Finnick tall and strong, almost two and half score.

He is robbed of his birthright, of the power, status and wife he deserves.  Instead he stands in the sun, spearing fish for their supper and working the fields growing bronze.

There is a proverb; she has heard that regret is the bitterest pill to swallow. This pill has been sitting on the tip of her tongue for forty-three years, the capsule has long since dissolved and all she can taste in the vile medicine, yet she refuses to swallow.

There are so man what ifs, that haunt her useless, because when it came down to it, she was only twenty five when her husband was murder, with their son only a year old. She was in no way shape or form able to fight.

There was a period of time, when her son was not yet one score, and she was tending the field herself, toiling in mud trying to feed the two of them, that she ventured her pale skin had become tanned, and the callus-less fingers from before, now rough and scarred could have easily strangled the would be king, happily with a vicious smile.

But that time was wined like the moon and the seasons pass and she has grown older and her hair whitened in age. She has survived on The Outside, raised her son, every inch a king, and every inch a warrior hardened by the hot, harsh climates of The Outside. Her son had met a girl, not a savage, but a princess who had wed him and born Finnick, though they died of the illness when Finnick was seven.

She had been spared, and kept Finnick away from his dying parents, burning their bodies to save them from catching illness.

She watches her grandson stand waist deep in the water, his spear a natural extension of his body, no movement wasted. There is a viciousness in her beloved grandson, one her son did not cultivate, too enthralled to find the next great adventure in The Outside, looking forward, while Mags stands firmly rooted in the past.

She knows it is foolish, her son looking so much like her beloved had yelled, ranted and raved at her that Panem is gone, that there will never be an Odair on the throne again, and instead they should make their peace and accept their fate as one of the expelled Panemians and enjoy their unwanted emigration to The Outside.

She has wondered time and time again if her son was right, if she should give up on her nightmare dreams of taking Snow’s head from his body, painting the throne room crimson in his blood like he did; and accept her fate as an exiled former Queen.

But the thing about have poison on your tongue for so long, is that even if you don’t swallow it, you end up absorbing it anyway; and the hatred she has been fostering for Snow who was her confidant and childhood friend, her brother in every way but blood runs deep into her veins until it had corroded every happy memory of him, and tainted the thoughts of her beloved, killed by his best friend’s blade.

No, Mags Odair refuses to let go of Panem.

 _You will die Coriolanus_ , she vows, watching Finnick in a fluid motion throw the spear in a long arc, certain to hit its target, _I swear to the Gods you will die by Finnick’s hand_.

* * *

 

In the entirety of Panem, there is no one more highly envied that the beautiful willowy blonde dressed in robes of the highest satin and velvet with hues of deep purple, only allowed to those of royal standing. 

Lady Cashmere, every inch a queen though she lacks the official title as not officially wed to King Coriolanus Snow, stands knee deep in the snow, in the corner of the palace grounds she has demanded to be a garden, like the ones she kept with her mother in the East.

The dead plants, marigolds, primroses and rhodadendrom bloom so prettily in the warmer months, it makes her hate winter.

Winter in the East, before she was brought to Court by Lord Crane when she was not yet seventeen are fond memories, ones she cherishes dearly. Farther, Mother, her twin brother Gloss (younger by only three minutes, but oh what those three minutes gave her), all laughing and singing silly songs around the fire.

They were low nobility; Father a knight under the Honourable Sir Brutus, and Mother was a lady-in-waiting; the status made them live comfortable, and demanded their presence at Court only on Midsummer’s Eve.

They were happy.

‘My Lady, please come inside-you’ll catch a cold!’ She doesn’t turn her head to acknowledge her ladies maid, tall with dark hair that reminds her of the deep forest and eyes that make Cashmere watch her tongue, Johanna Mason is not one who she trusts with her deepest secrets.

It had been a blind moment of rebellion, when this half-starved girl came rushing into court, her dress in shambled, begging-no more like ordering, she corrects herself, to have a position, for there were no jobs back from where she was from.

She was quite expressive in her words, there wasn’t a job to be found for a good girl, and she’d rather be condemned by the Gods themselves than turn tricks on mattresses. The King had thought to kill her for her insolence or tossed out. However, there was something striking in the girl’s dark eyes that made Cashmere show her hand.

There is not a queen in Panem; the King’s refusal to marry is one of the oddest parts of his reign, but she has been his mistress and constant companion for over ten years now, and so she has the power though she lacks the title.

She thought the girl would be interesting; she was close to her age and might have some better conversation. She was wrong, Johanna barely says a word to her if it is not related to her job, and instead spends her time waiting in the shadows watching for someone-Oh Cashmere has an idea who, Johanna isn’t what one would ever consider to be subtle, but unless it benefits her, there is no reason to let her ladies maid know she is aware.

‘I like the snow.’ Cashmere says, not moving, forcing Johanna to wade through the snow.

‘Obviously, because you’re fucking him.’ Johanna mutters darkly, angry at her task. Cashmere pretends not to hear. The relationship between her and the King is a complicated one, not worth gossiping about with servants who fuck married men. ‘Come inside Milady.’

‘It covers everything, and makes everything look pristine and neat, while everything is decaying underneath it.’ Cashmere continues, ‘What a horror to be had when one digs up the death underneath. It’s much happier to keep the snow, than the death isn’t it?’

She’s not quite looking for an answer, though as is lady’s maid’s nature Johanna answers, her tone thick with veiled disbelief that one could be so stupid.

‘Beauty is only skin deep.’

Cashmere does not sigh, but with her back turned to the other woman she rolls her eyes; Johanna  did not understand the importance of subtly, the politics of court, and how everything you do is been watched and held over you.

There is a reason why Johanna will always wait in the shadow, and never be wed like she hopes. She is either vapid enough to think no one knows, or crash enough to not care. Both are reasons why she will be stuck in her position forever.

‘And we only see the skin.’ She humours Johanna, giving her more fuel to tell the scully maids; how dim and foolish the not-Queen is, how the King only wants her for her body, and how the not-Queen cares for nothing but a good time, and her flowers.

 _Well_ , Cashmere thinks wirily, turning abruptly on her heel, and marching through the snow, letting her dress drag behind her, making an interesting trail; _one true rumour out of three isn’t that bad._

* * *

 

Panem is a series of four main islands, the North where Twelve was, so aptly named for the Twelve adventures who perished there in the long cold winter, the East where Lord Woof who was nearing ninety years of age called home, the West where Sir Brutus, one of his dear friends, if not the most violent was allowed free range to persecute them however he decrees, and finally the Southern Island, which he has made his domain. With the Capitol located on a fifth smaller island, central and sheltered by the four large ones, Panem is rather secure, and so the large, fifty metre high wall of stone that circles the islands of Panem, keeping invading boats out is rather unnecessary.

Still, it exists, and while there are several hundred young men who guard The Wall, unable to reach knighthood, and thus taking this opportunity to be employed, he finds it a rather large eyesore.

The Wall existed before their current king’s rule, and will exist long after, though the question of who will inherit the throne is a question worth asking.

But, Beetee Laiter, one of the Four Knights, and in charge of the protection of the southern island spends more time than he should trying to imagine what the ocean would look like if it were not divided by the thick, grey stones.

Would the clear blue water deepen and darken, and would there be ships?

The Wall has been the cause of many of his daydreams, and is at the gnawing headache he carries around constantly.  The southern island is not as small as the Northern Island, but he does not travel to Court like the others do.

His wife is too ill to travel, and after their first child was born premature, they were unable to conceive.

He has special permission to stay in the Southern Island, though for this means he must be in charge of The Wall, dealing with all the politics, crime, and pregnancies that result in the several hundred young men who break their vows of celibacy on a regular bases.

The only good thing is Wiress is quite good with numbers, and she can run the accounts much better than he can.

But still, this is the fourth time in five months he has had to deal with Blight. He’s from Brutus’s area, though he lacks the discipline that Brutus impresses and he knows, after many hours complaining to his old friend, that Blight was not trained by Brutus, but “by an idiot with an axe and horrid aim.”

Tall, with dark hair that is beginning to lighten with age, Bright is nearing three score; though the way he carries himself would beg otherwise.

Privately, Beetee was under the impression that Blight had bad aim with more than just his axe.

‘No, honest Sir.’ Blight tells him, standing in front of his desk, cluttered with paper and books, his voice in a practise earnest which makes him wonder if Blight truly does not think his actions have consequences, and that nothing is his fault, or if it is all a façade.  ‘She says it’s mine but I didn’t break no vows. Not since Cecelia. And it can’t possibly be mine. I pulled out!’

Beetee closes his eyes, and prays to the gods for strength.  ‘So, you are saying you did not break your vows, yet this girl, what was her name?’

Blight shifts his weight sheepishly. ‘Uh…well she’s got red hair, and this really pointy face. Doesn’t really talk much. She likes berries?’

‘She…likes berries.’ He repeats, nodding slowly. He wonders if Haymitch, or Brutus or even Woof who trained the three of them ever had this problem.  Decidedly not, since Gloss seemed to reject any advances of both man and woman, and the dark haired scowling boy who followed Haymitch like a shadow was apparently fixated on one girl. ‘She claims to be carrying your child and all the information you know about her is that she has red hair and she likes berries?’

‘Well it’s not like we were talkin’ much.’ Blight argues.

‘Her _name_ Blight. Her _name_.’

‘It’s probably something very nice.’ Blight tells him, and Beetee sighs, making no attempt to hide his frustration. The man in front of him has the decency to look sheepish.  ‘I’m sorry-‘

‘Come back tomorrow.’  He says tiredly, shifting pages around on his desk, before finding a blank one where he puts the date, Blight’s name, and the phrase ‘With Child’ on the top. ‘We will sort this out then.’

Blight nods, and bows before leaving the room quickly and silently.

‘I wonder what he thinks celibacy means.’ A sotto soprano voice makes him jump, and the door to his office is left open, where his wife with her short black hair stands, pushing a trolly that has afternoon tea set up.

He smiles, and leaves his desk to clasp her hands. ‘Apparently it means not getting a girl with child.’

Wiress laughs, and kisses her husband’s hands. Though it has been many years since he has been in battle, they are still lined with scars and callouses for the rigorous training he puts himself through, never to be seen as lesser deserving for his title than the others who do battle. ‘You should tell Brutus he needs to stop jailing people, and educate them instead.’

Beetee scoffs, ‘Right. Brutus stop bashing skulls in, we have to be diplomatic-you’d have better luck bathing that hell cat Haymitch moans about.’

* * *

 

The fire Johanna built warms the small room greatly, and she had dismissed the younger woman once it had been built.

Anxious to get away, and try to find her shadow lover Johanna had made no argument. This left Cashmere to her thoughts, the ones that Johanna believes revolve around balls, and pretty dresses. Better she believe that, and spread those rumours around than the truth.

She would rather everyone believe her to be vapid than smart, because no one likes a smart woman; and those few seem to be dead.

The snow from seen on the other side of the window pane, looks majestic and it makes her stomach roll. The white, from a distance means one cannot feel the cold that cuts to the bones. It covers up death, and really, death is only natural.

She watches the snow fall, as the ink dries on her latest letter to Gloss.  She reads her letter over, and then tosses the parchment into the flames, watching the yellow paper curl, blacken and turn into ashes.

She thinks there could be a blizzard soon, and all of them will be trapped by the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is seevikifangirl


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